ME:N7 Mission Logs
Training Day 1. Back in Brazil. Home sweet home. I thought Officer School was as tough as it got outside of direct combat. I was wrong. I'm still spitting up blood while I write this. The first day I find out I'm one of three officers in a mixed squad of turians and humans. Three officers in one squad, and one of them Turian??? How the fuck is that supposed to work? Do we play paper rock scissors when it's time to make a decision? And I knew the Alliance was manuevering to get a seat on the Council, but I didn't see them letting aliens into our top military school. I guess the brass know what they're doing. Not that I have a problem with the flap-faces. Dad fought them in the First Contact War and told me they're solid fighters with a sense of honor. At least we're not trying to butter up the Batarians. Thinking of Batarians reminds me of Marissa. Cowards. They can't hold their own in a land grab so they throw a fit, leave the Council, and become interstellar terrorists. I can't wait until the Alliance decides to wipe them off the face of the galaxy. I'll be right up front, wearing an N7 badge, putting the bastards out of their misery. But enough about that. Back to the training: The Guantlet. I thought the Guantlet was just another object of the military's obstacle course fetish. How very wrong I was. I have three loose teeth and a now-minor cuncussion. Seems the wonders of medi-gel only go so far when it comes to repairing damage from head trauma. But the squad pulled together well, we all made it through, most of us willingly. E7 wanted to bail, along with a few others, but the turian officer E3 "inspired" 7 to make the run. After seeing his methods the rest went along. 10 was the only one to come out of the thing conscious. Tough little bitch that one. Never even been through basic and she manages to get the wand through the guantlet. And she packs a hell of a biotic blast. I've never seen a human carrying so much juice. No wonder they want her in N7. E1 is going to be a problem. I can see that already. He's got a bad case of xenophobia. The moron. He's not looking at things clearly, not thinking his way around to see things from the brass's perspective. Xenophobia's out. We're not alone in this galaxy, and the Battle of the Citadel proved how much we need the other species out there. It also proved how much they need us, for what that's worth. I still remember the look on the Council's faces when they saw a couple humans pull their asses from the fire...almost worth the price of admission. Almost. Day 2. We got our billet. A nice shed in the middle of the woods. At least our performance on the Guantlet earned us the right to first dibs. It's all about location, that's what the realtor's say, and I think we got a nice plot. Far off from the rest of the squads. It's a very defensible position. Unfortunately we don't have power, or much in the way of resources. Or food. Sometimes I wonder about the military philosophy that seems to believe soldiers learn better on no sleep, an empty stomach, and constant pressure. I've seen combat. It's brief moments of terror surrounded by days (or months) of boredom. I guess they think this shit tests our mettle. I hope they're right. Day 3. We got ambushed by a Kodiak on our way to training today. A fucking Kodiak. And of course we didn't have any real heavy weapons. But 9 pulled off a couple miracle shots with her Mantis while the rest of us hid in the jungle like scared little ski-masked pygmys. I wish we had more like her on the squad. Most of these folks have more experience with a joystick in their hands or diddling their Omni-tools than they do with a weapon. 10's never even fired a shot before. Not sure what the hell I'm supposed to do with this lot... Day 15. 1's fucking with the turian's again, and now it's costing the squad sleep. I thought we were under attack last night and it was only the Scotsman getting a thumping from the turians over shit detail. We got an audience with the General over the issue. Seems I'm not looking at this thing from the right perspective either. N7 isn't just about succeeding, apparently it's about managing the human resource. Seems we are supposed to work out our own chain of command. Maybe it was being brought before the general, I don't know, but for whatever reason 1 decided he'd take orders from yours truly. Decided he'd take orders. What kind of cluster fuck is that? Since when does someone decide what rank they are? It doesn't matter though. He's backed off the turians some. We've even made a little game out of the racial animosity, trying to encourage some healthy competitivenss. So far so good. Day 30. Hurricane season. My favorite time of year. Of course the big dicks in charge decide it's a perfect time for a night seek and destroy mission. Half way through they decide it's a snatch and grab. Then they take our ammo. Then they shoot down our ride home. Then they overrun the compound. Nothing like running from Kodiak fire carrying a 280 lb unconscious black man on my back. I think I'm going to have permanent scarring from the shot I took. Adrenaline must have been going on overdrive, because I walked (well, stumbled) away from the blast. One thing I've learned from this training - that I keep learning from military training - is that no matter how far you are pushed, you can take it, and go even further. Day 31. I definitely lost teeth today. I think Philandros got a little carried away trying to get me to ring the bell. Well, fuck him and my broken teeth. I didn't get this far to quit. 1 did, though. Prick. I guess he could dish out the punishment to the turians, but when the tables were turned he couldn't take it. How a man can ring that bell and still feel like a man, I'll never know. I thought having a live gun put to my head and getting my face smashed in was going to be the highlight of my day, but I was definitely wrong about that. I don't even know if I should put the following down on record, but I'll keep this to remind myself it was real. The Coursairs. The blackest of black ops. No oversight. No chain of command. No more Marshal Flynn. Just the mission. Taking it to the enemy under the radar of even the Council. Who would have thought a military brat from Brazilia, a "C" student no less, would be running more top secret than the Spectres? Eat your heart out Shephard.